What Love Is
by needlesandthread
Summary: Written in Grimmjow's POV. Grimmjow reflects on his life and relationship with Ichigo. AU and possible OOC. Graphic language and scenes. Yaoi, lemons, sexual situations.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own Bleach or it's characters.** _This is my newest project! I really hope you all enjoy it. I'm not sure how people will respond to it since it's a bit different from how I usually write. But I feel comfortable in it, and I hope it's intriguing!_

Chapter 1

Love.

It's a concept we all think we grasp, most of us that scuttle around this earth, downtrodden, submissive to the rules of society, in our own little universe as if each of our lives is the most important thing, the only thing that matters, that exists. Love gives us hope, keeps us going on the days when our feet hit the cold floor and we think, "Why even fucking bother climbing in the hamster wheel? It's the same shit today as yesterday, and it will always be that way." It gives us something to live for, doesn't it, when we are all swept up in its waves, being smashed around in the waters as if we are nothing but insignificant flotsam, absolutely powerless to stop it from happening. We are crashed time and time again against the jagged rocks on the shoreline; and yet we still come back for more.

If you look up the definition of love in the dictionary, or on your smart phone, because of course who the fuck would own a dictionary in this day in age? Just me I guess, but I digress. If you look up love's definition, you get nothing but sentimental shit like feelings of adoration and affection and tenderness. Yeah, they throw in some shit about sexual desire, but it takes a real fool to confuse lust and love, which explains a lot of the daytime channel shows about infidelity. Sex is more than sex when it's with someone you truly love. And that's not being sentimental, that's real talk.

That's all shit we know and expect about love. But love isn't as basic of a concept as we like to make it out to be. Most people's depth of understanding barely scratches the surface of what love truly is. Because if people really understood it, most wouldn't fuck with an emotion like that, because they haven't the grit to withstand what it's gonna put you through. Because there is so much about love no one tells you, and I think that's because of the aforementioned: _they don't know_.

Nobody tells you how love will hit you out of the blue when you are minding your own fucking business. They don't know how it will fuck with your head, driving you to feel shit you've never felt before- in both good ways and bad, and how insanely intense those feelings will be. You transform into this whole different person. You'll be standing there staring at yourself in the mirror. That reflection is you, certainly, until you look into your eyes. You do shit you wouldn't normally do, and that person becomes your whole life- the center of the universe that used to revolve around you solely. It's absolute lunacy. And it's the best shit that will ever happen to you.

* * *

The person I fell in love with was the last person on the fucking planet, hell, the fucking galaxy that I thought I'd ever end up with. I would say it's fair that it surprised the hell out of both us to be honest. It was sort of like walking down the city street at midnight with the neon lights drowning out the stars. You have your head down, watching your feet, dodging trash and keeping to yourself, minding your own business and hurrying toward your destination, when suddenly a meteorite rips through the atmosphere and takes out half of the city before your eyes.

There's a symphony of screams of terror and agony, car alarms and sirens filling the air that smells of burning ozone-instant fires and collapsing buildings. Debris is everywhere, sidewalks and streets are impassable. People are hurt and dead everywhere, the ones who aren't running the opposite way in pure, unfiltered human panic. And you just stand there, feet cemented to the pavement, aghast and uncomprehending the magnitude of what has just occurred before your very eyes. Yes, our encounter was a lot like that.

Me, I'm a branded man. My life is forever fucked to be a battle up a treacherous mountainside both ways. I never had parents, at least not ones I can recall. I was raised in an orphanage, a fucking hovel that was severely underfunded with a sadistic director and abusive caretakers. Nobody gave a fuck about us little street urchins, aside from the few that took pity on us. And there were a lot of us like that, because the black hole of a place where I grew up, Hueco Mundo, it left behind a lot of orphans, just little people discarded as easily as trash out of a car window while flying down the freeway. Unfortunately, none of us danced like a plastic bag in the wind to a place where we'd be recycled, where our potential could be seen and be developed into something useful to the world.

But there's this saying: One's trash is another man's treasure. And us pathetic little urchins that showed any sort of potential, we became someone's treasure all right. At the tender ages of twelve and thirteen, right at the prime age for molding a brain and body toward a cause, some of the children in the system were hand selected to be pulled from the poverty that was all we'd ever known.

I was a little hood, learned to pick pocket when I was six, and that in turn also educated me in how to beat a motherfucker down. It was self defense, because the second anyone knew you had something they didn't, they wanted it for themselves. By the time I was 13, I could lift a wallet, purse, or jewelry off most people without them ever knowing, which was great for me, but theft was a necessary evil. There was a bit of a rush while doing it, but what really got my blood going was a fight.

I was in the typical Hueco Mundo back alley, the crumpling brick structures slathered in various gang graffiti, the dumpsters overflowing with trash onto the ground, littering the area with old newspapers, boxes, and broken glass from beer and liquor bottles. There was a small gang of 3 boys all a few years older than I was who had tried to recruit me into their unit because of my reputation in the streets. But me, I was always a lone wolf, never learned to play nice with others. I told them to go fuck themselves.

Apparently they didn't like my answer, but see, I knew they wouldn't and oh, how I was counting on it. I could taste the tension in the air and my blood was hot and rushing with every beat of my over excited heart, mixing with adrenaline as they moved in on me.

The first one to move was the one behind me, thinking he had the element of surprise. But I knew better, because people like these were cowards and they always go for your back. The minute I saw him move in my peripheral vision I ducked and spun around, planting my feet firmly in the dirty gravel. I launched myself upwards with all the strength I could muster and caught that unfortunate soul right in the jaw with my fist. I can still feel the way his hard jawbone felt against the skin stretched across my knuckles, and I can still hear the way it splintered like precious china hitting the floor that slipped from the careless hands of a maid.

Needless to say when you have a broken jaw, the fight snuffs out of you real quick. I spun on the other two. Oh, they were stark raving mad at what I did to their homeboy and rushed at me at the same time. One of them had a piece of lumber raised in one hand and the grin that stretched across my face when I broke the first guy's jaw grew in width. I kicked the unarmed guy in the knee as hard as I could and began ducking the furious swipes of the 2x4. I think I dislocated the kid's knee because he didn't get up from where he fell bellowing in pain.

I was a quick shit but I lucked out and caught the 2x4 by the mouth. The taste of blood flooded my mouth and the pain fueled the madness within me that came out when fights got physical. I bull rushed the guy and knocked him to the ground, scrambling for the piece of wood that fell during our altercation. I raised it above my head, and the boy began screaming, begging me to stop and that they'd leave me alone for good. I knew it was lies.

It was that moment when the devil spoke to me. I didn't even know where he came from or notice exactly how long he had lingered in that alley, his eyes watching, assessing, and deciding. But that's how devils are, silent, stealthy, and deadly. His voice was like smooth silk sliding down a beautiful woman's bare back when he commanded me.

"Finish him."

It was barely audible over the boy's screams and pleas, but the lowly spoken command drifted into my ears and seized my senses. The madness in me returned as I stared down at this wretch that was crying like a little bitch now. He reminded me of every weakness in myself that got me beaten, starved, abandoned, and taken advantage of. I hated him. I didn't think twice when I let that 2x4 come down again and again, until there was no more sound coming from the mush that was a head only moments before.

I stood and turned to the devil, seeing him for the first time. I wasn't impressed, I must admit. He was handsome, but he was a man. An average mortal man, but I wasn't a made thief for nothing. My sharp eyes noted the style and cut of his suit to be designer, caught the flash of a platinum time piece on his wrist. His shoes were made of alligator skin. He handed me a gun.

"No witnesses."

I was 13 and in a matter of minutes, I had added triple homicide to my list of crimes. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. That's how I became Espada. I was branded by Aizen. I'm ashamed of it all now. In the nights when we lay awake in the moonlight, I talk to my lover about it. I don't understand how he could love a cold blooded killer. But when his tan fingers trace the outline of my tattoo, and he covers it in kisses with his sweet mouth, I feel like he's trying to psychologically train me to associate that part of myself with something much more pleasant.

It's working, for the most part.

* * *

 **End Chapter.** _Please tell me what you think! Good or bad, or both, I can take it! (Just be polite if it's bad, lol) 3_


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own Bleach or its characters.** _I don't know if you follow any of my other stories, but after a long hiatus, yes, I am back! I have previously thanked my loyal readers and believe me, my thanks now is just as deep to those of you who continue to like and support what I do. So please enjoy, and be patient with me. I may not crank these out weekly but I'm dedicated as ever to making sure I find time in my busy life to write!_

Chapter 2

A brutal personality and lethally short temper contributed to my rise within the ranks of Espada. However, an utter lack of respect for authority halted me at rank 6. Thus, I became the Sexta Espada and was branded on the lower right side of my back. At the time, I couldn't have been more fucking proud of myself for rising out of the dirt to become part of something. I was brain washed into power and addicted to the thrill of the fight. It was all I lived for, to bust someone up, to feel the race of adrenaline in my bloodstream as it thrummed through my veins. I liked being able to decide just how fucked up I left someone if the orders were to leave them alive. I never thought twice about killing and was disappointed when the game was over, my victim's life-force drained out and their eyes lay open and unseeing.

Can I say I bought into Aizen's plans for world domination? Not really. I'm more intelligent than people credit me for. But I wasn't stupid enough to pass on the power he held and the power he granted me. After all, I did hold a sense of duty to him from pulling me from the miserable existence I had been in despite the monster he helped shape me into. I was going to ride the wave to the brink of crashing into the jagged shoreline and then abandon ship before Aizen fell on his own sword. Often I think about if I could go back and change my life, stop myself from joining Espada and meeting the piece of shit that was Sosuke Aizen, would I?

Not in a million lifetimes.

The first time I laid eyes on Kurosaki, I hated his fucking guts. There wasn't a shred of anything even remotely close to romantic or even kind feelings toward him. I wanted him dead and by my own hand. I knew before I even met him that he was more than what anyone thought of him. Nobody would listen, not Aizen, or his lap dog, cock gobbling 4th rank, Cifer. They thought Kurosaki could be easily disposed of if he proved to be a problem. After knowing me, you'd think they'd learn a thing a two about misjudging people with an exceptional hair color. We were born that way for a reason, made to stand out all the way down to our genetic construction.

Our paths eventually crossed. Kurosaki at that time was young, with grand ideas of justice and a world that was purely black and white when it came to wrong and right, good versus evil. He had taken up sword against the Espada when I stepped into his hometown. Now, I had deliberately done so without permission from Aizen, but felt at the time I was the only one seeing sense in getting rid of this punk. He was accompanied by a small, black haired girl. She was easy to dispose of. I did so without batting an eyelash.

Anger is not often an emotion that is associated with beauty. The rage that transformed Kurosaki the moment his friend fell is something I'll never forget. Anger darkens his eyes, sets his jaw, and tenses all his muscles. He becomes this weapon for justice. He's quite like Steve Rogers in this way. And I'm crazy enough to find it attractive. I must admit I was a bit sad at the thought of wasting him before getting him under me in the sheets…but battle was even more important to me than sex.

Our first battle was rather boring, until Kurosaki surprised me at the end. During our whole scrimmage, he was unsuccessful at landing a blow on me. My life in Espada had made me agile and catlike with reflexes. However, he eventually delivered a good slash across my torso. It had left a scar when it healed. Often, Kurosaki's fingers delicately trace this scar and his eyes grow soft with apologies that I never let him speak. It's kills me to know they are there, that he feels any regret for cutting the asshat I was back then.

We crossed paths a few more times after that while I was still under Aizen's thumb. Each time was more intense than the last as we ripped each other apart. There were times when I had to taste the blood to tell whether it was mine or his I was covered in. I nearly had his life once, when I was double crossed by one of my own. That's when Kurosaki did something that surprised me, which at this point in life was extremely hard to do. He defended me, as beat to hell as he was by my hands.

Aizen escaped. I was taken prisoner.

* * *

I was to stand trial for my crimes against Seireitei and its soldiers. The few of us caught alive were to shoulder all the blame for Aizen's wrongdoings and be made an example of. The fact that we were even given a "trial" was just to uphold the honor those uppity, rich old bastards thought they had. If your name was ever associated with Hueco Mundo, you were worthless trash and nothing else. We were to be disposed of.

I can't say I was afraid of dying. If I'm being dead honest, I was more disappointed I hadn't gotten to kill more of soldiers sent to Hueco Mundo. My mind was trained to be a murder machine and nothing more. But it seemed trouble was brewing elsewhere for Seireitei during the long, drawn out process of my trial. Sitting locked away in solitary, cold metal against the skin of my wrists and ankles, I was unknowing of what was going on in high court.

Days later, I was being instructed I was now nothing more than property of Seireitei by a few guys who looked tough on the outside. Under their body armor and pounds of stacked muscles, I could smell their fear of even being in the same room as me. I was having fun watching the minuscule flinches they'd make every time I'd shift in my seat; albeit I was shackled to it and it was bolted to the floor. I was trained to notice things like that, and months in solitude did nothing to encumber my skills. I took great pleasure in the anxiety I was building that surely made them shit their brains out later that day.

My fun was spoiled when in walked none other than Kurosaki. He was making a regular habit out of becoming a source of surprise for me. He'd testified for me multiple times of the course of my solitary confinement. There was one thing Kurosaki was not, and that was stupid. I may or may not have told him he was many times; that was only to get his goat. He recognized the power I possessed and spent a lot of his free time convincing shriveled up old men that I was useful. He'd gotten me a gig which was the reason I was still alive. I was to help him and the other soldiers of Seireitei fight against the new threat.

Naturally, I agreed, because in my mind this meant I got another chance to cut that Strawberry down from the vine and splatter his juices under my boot in the most violent ways I could think of. I've been told I'm surprisingly creative when I put my mind to it. He told me what he saw in my eyes that day was akin to what he saw the first time I laid eyes on him. He's never named that emotion and to this day he just smirks his smart-ass smirk if I try to get the information out of him.

If you'd have told me then that Kurosaki would someday become the sun that I revolved around, I'd have laughed manically and then ripped your fucking throat out with my bare hands and shoved it up your ass and then delivered your still bleeding carcass to your mother's doorstep. I had no clue what this war was going to do me, or to him. It literally was the turning point of our lives.

* * *

Sometimes, when PTSD keeps me awake at night, I imagine I am a boulder in the forest. Immovable; I'm so still I am barely breathing. During this time, I watch Kurosaki sleep next to me. He's the serene, beautiful water of the river that flows around me, the boulder. I wait to break my facade only when I've finally reached the cusp of sleep, my eyes too heavy to gaze at the perfection I don't deserve lying next to me.

I become me again just long enough to whisper, "Du bist mein Engel."

* * *

 **End Chapter.** _I hope you enjoyed! Reviews and comments are always welcomed and appreciated! 3_


	3. Chapter 3

**I** **don't own Bleach or its characters.** _Here we are, installment 3! I must say, I'm enjoying writing it and I'm hoping you all are enjoying reading it!_

Chapter 3

Everyday living on the streets in a shithole place like Hueco Mundo is a war. Fighting to stay alive, kill or be killed kind of struggle in which it's all about survival of the fittest. People adapt and learn the ways of the streets, and bastards like me learned skills and refined them until they were razor sharp. I was born with a certain type of bloodlust and mania that drove me to this point in my life.

Nothing I learned in the streets prepared me for a real war, especially after spending nearly seventeen months in solitary confinement. In a way, it was like a vacation from the reality of the streets and I unknowingly had gotten a little of kilter.

Playing on the good guy's team was not something I was used to but had no choice other than to adapt to it quickly. Considering I had once been an enemy of Seireitei and had taken down comrades of the people I was working with, I was surprised to find there wasn't as much hatred towards me as I expected. There was mistrust and apprehension in the eyes of those who I'd fight next to but our joint goal of saving all our lives put all that other shit on the back burner.

Experiencing a sense of comradery wasn't something I'd done before, but then again, fighting with an Espada on your side wasn't something the people of Seireitei were used to either. I grew close to Kisuke Urahara. You'd never guess it, but under that stupid fucking striped hat of his was a mind made for strategy and a body built for combat. We trained together and before I knew it the guy was growing on me. You could say he was the closest thing to a friend I'd ever had.

We were dropped into battle together and the thrill of the fight was coursing through my veins. The enemy was unlike anybody I'd ever fought before. Almost unhuman in their cunning and strength, the enemy also had conviction that ridding the world of us was the only thing that would improve the future and therefore set out to annihilate without a shred of humanity inside them. They were a lot like me, so I thought I could understand them and looked forward to taking them down.

* * *

I couldn't fathom how the carnage I saw would affect me. I saw a comrade shot through the torso and he bled out. We couldn't even get to him because of the spray of heavy gunfire and the blood just spewed out of the gaping hole in his flesh like a damn destroyed by a tsunami. His life was over in just a few short breaths.

The screams of dying and wounded men in battle were different than they were when I was picking off heroin addicts and guys who had gambling problems and couldn't pay their debts. The explosions, the bullets, those are scary sounds; the way flesh and bone rip and separate as though it's as flimsy as tissue paper when a man steps on a land mine is an entirely new and grotesque sound that is punctuated by the screams of sheer, unfiltered pain. One minute the guy had an arm, the next it was on the ground some 70 to 100 feet from his body. You never see that shit coming. Any moment it could be you.

The enemy's own leader was a blood thirsty monster. He decapitated one of his own men and sent us the rotting head in a box that somehow had been stuffed onto one of our supply trucks. There you are ripping open boxes and crates pulling out freeze dried rations for the month and the next thing you know, you are puking your guts out on the side of the truck from the sight and stench of a four-week-old disembodied head that has been baking in the desert heat. I've drank myself into stupors that should've killed me with alcohol poisoning and still didn't vomit as much or as hard as I did that day.

I was no saint before this war and had taken so many lives I could never hope to wash the blood stains from my hands. Before this, I had even enjoyed killing. It had taken me going into a war to find out why I was that way. I loved the thrill of the fight, stalking your prey down like a panther in the jungle and watching it cower as it realized what horribly powerful predator was bearing down upon it. Even in the first parts of the war I enjoyed the rush of battle. The difference between then and now was in Hueco Mundo, I could kill and enjoy the power and influence I was given because I simply had nothing to lose. No one to care for or about, expect myself, I could do what I then believed was my job and indulge the maniac inside me.

The war different because I cared. Somehow, despite who and what I was, the soldiers I fought with took me in and made me one of their own. I became a part of this united brotherhood and came to know every man in my unit inside and out. For the first time in my life, I had actual friends and people I could trust. I got to win victories in battle with them. And for some, I watched them die before my eyes and placed their broken, lifeless shells in body bags to be shipped home for decorated and high honor funerals.

And then there was Kurosaki. Never once did we get to fight together. Seireitei saved the best and most dangerous battles for him, naturally, as they seemed to do when they needed someone to bail them out of the shit they stepped their shiny, thousand dollar boots in. He was always off on some mission being the good guy pawn for Seireitei. There were nights I'd lay awake and stare at the sky, wondering where he was and if he was still alive.

Every time he came back to base, beat to fuck and sometimes barely holding onto the flame that kept him alive, I'd breathe a breath that I didn't know I had been holding for the entire time he was gone. That stupid fucking carrot top had me worrying over his well-being like some sort of pussy bitch. I'd stomp off and seek out anyone brave enough to spar and beat the ever-loving shit out of them in what was supposed to be a friendly match, you know, exercise. After the first time, Urahara chalked it up to our unit as PTSD. The guys had pity on me and would indulge me, but Urahara would always be there watching the fight, his eyes shaded under the brim of his ridiculous striped hat, waiting to intervene if I tried to get too violent.

That little blond fucker knew then what took me so long to realize.

* * *

Of course, when all was said and done, the war over and the dead all buried, Ichigo was once again a decorated war hero. My record was expunged and for my time served and victories won, I was granted amnesty from Seireitei. Unfortunately, the citizens weren't all too impressed with what I had gone through to keep their happy asses alive. As a marked man of the Espada, I was refused service in bars and restaurants, denied employment at several different companies, and even public forms of transportation would pass me by when I was clearly at a bus terminal or trying to hail a cab. Women would cross the street to avoid walking by me and children would point and spit.

I ended up crashing in the basement of Urahara's little shop. He was kind enough to set me up with a corner that was literally 4 feet by 4 feet bigger than my prison cell. I never once complained; I'm not complaining now either, just trying to convey to you how fucked up shit had gotten for me. I did little odd favors for him around the shop like taking inventory and stocking, sometimes cleaning, when I was around and not out pounding the pavement looking for a job.

I was losing my fucking mind. The war had left pieces of my mind and spirit fractured and in danger of shattering beyond repair. The only time I had been idle was when I was in solitary, and even then, I busied myself with constant exercise and I had the thirst of sweet, Seireitei blood then. Now I couldn't sleep for more than four hours at a time, and most nights I woke up sweating, screaming, or a wonderful cocktail of both.

I was a swirling mixture of fucked up basket case. I began to dumpster dive, looking for shit to fix to keep my hands and my mind occupied. Urahara was able to get a couple of people he knew to trust me enough to let me work on their cars after he got sick of me dragging home broken wash machines, refrigerators, fans, clocks, and other discarded odds and ends. It became apparent that I could fix anything if you let me at it, and I became this handy man of sorts. Work could be scarce because of the prejudice I faced, but it gave me back some dignity by being able to earn myself a working wage.

The day I found it, it never crossed my mind that fixing it would change my life forever. The little silver laptop was wedged in a box of moldy playboy magazines buried under seven bags of trash I heaved aside inside a green dumpster outside of an apartment complex where I had taken a job to fix a leaking sink. It was a miracle I even noticed it all because I was getting ready to maneuver myself back out of the maggot infested dumpster, thinking to myself that these uppity fucks threw nothing out except for literal trash.

In between jobs and nights when sleep failed me or wouldn't even come at all, I taught myself how to reconstruct the computer. There were some parts that I had to order new to get it to work again, and Urahara will tell you I wore a hole in his bamboo floors pacing around waiting for them to arrive by UPS. Urahara wasn't impressed when I finally powered the sucker on, claiming his computer was a better model and he could see why they threw it out.

I was proud of it though. I fixed it and brought it back to life with my own two hands; hands that had never been much good at anything but destruction. I now had this little 13-inch contraption to reconnect me to the world I had become severely disjointed from. As fun as surfing the web could be, especially now having unlimited access to free porn (HEY! I'm still a man for fucks sake!), the thing I became the most fascinated with was the word processor.

I had all this shit in my head that literally ping ponged around in there, bouncing relentlessly off the walls of my skull all the hours of the day. One day, after having a severe panic attack that scared Urahara so bad he had to call for a doctor friend to come over, I opened my laptop and just began to write. The feel of the smooth little black keys beneath the rough pads of my fingers became addictive as I watched words fly across the screen at this maniac pace that I couldn't slow down.

Hours later, Urahara came to check on me and began peering over my shoulder at what I was writing. Honestly, he is a nosy little fuck when he wants to be. He handed me a cold bottle of water with this weird expression on his face (which is saying a lot because this is Urahara, who is 9.5 times out of 10 in some sort of weird state on the daily) and asked me if he could continue reading what I had written. I snorted and made a comment about him having no life, but handed over the computer anyway, not thinking too much about it.

After what seemed like forever, Urahara looked up from the computer, bleary eyed from staring at the screen so long. He flipped the lid down and gave me this serious look that I hadn't seen since we were preparing to kick some ass or die trying on the battle field.

He pushed the computer back into my hands.

"You have to finish this, Grimmjow."

I couldn't explain it to anyone, but I had that feeling before Kisuke ever said anything. Somehow when I sat down and started hammering away at those keys, I had found some sort of therapeutic outlet for the aching in my soul and the ghosts that caused so much fucking racket in my brain.

And I didn't know then that what I was doing was going to lead me straight to Kurosaki.

* * *

 **End Chapter.** _Thoughts? I'm hoping everyone is enjoying reading this! It is sort of a depressing chapter but good things are yet to come! Comments and reviews are always welcomed and appreciated! 3_


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own Bleach or its characters.** _Here's the fourth installment! I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I don't know if it makes me a bit of a sadist, but I am ok with it if it does, lol. Do enjoy!_

Chapter 4

I once thought that the only real talents I had were beating the fuck out of people and stealing. After the war, I learned how to rebuild machines just for something to do. I didn't know that the obsession to have my hands and mind busy would lead me to discover a hidden talent I couldn't even fathom I had.

Now, I didn't even start high school and to say my eighth-grade education was quality, when I even bothered to show up, is downright laughable. But I learned to read and write decently in the time I did spend in school. Unfortunately, those skills didn't seem to me to have any use in me surviving on the streets. So, I didn't use them nearly as much as I did my fists.

With the help of Kisuke and the rebuilt laptop, we came to discover I was truly a diamond in the rough. The need to flush out all the noise and demons in my head drove me into slamming out over the course of three insomnia driven weeks what Kisuke raved would be the next national best seller. I thought it was all bullshit, and I told him so quite colorfully as only I can do; the thing about Kisuke is he can be a persistent little fucker when he wants to be. If he gets the slightest whiff of the scent of a business scheme, he's like a rabid rat in a maze, trying to get to the cheese.

He insisted on sending what he was now calling my "manuscript" to an editor and publisher duo that he knew in Seireitei. I rolled my eyes and stuffed it into manila envelopes and sent the bouncy little fan waver on his way. That was that for me; I literally forgot as the weeks went by that I sent some of the most personal shit I ever put in writing off to be read by some strangers in Seireitei.

* * *

War did nothing to dull my reflexes; in fact, I'd wager my left nut that it enhanced them even beyond what they were when I was Espada. That's why when Kisuke suddenly appeared behind me in ramshackle shed behind his shop where I was fixing an old chest freezer and grabbed my shoulder, I spun around and punched him in the face automatically without realizing what I was doing.

When I finally realized what I had done seconds later, over the sound of my rapidly pounding heart I could hear Kisuke, who was on the ground with blood spewing from his now broken nose, say that he was fine and it was his fault for sneaking up on me. There were two ladies crouched over him, which knowing the pervert that Kisuke could be was not a problem for him. I'd wager my right nut he was lying in the grass milking his injury for all it was worth.

The shorter of the two wore a black dress with a yellow belt. Her shining black hair was short and from what I could tell of her face, reserved and almost blank, she didn't look like she felt all that sorry for Kisuke. In a curt voice, she gave Kisuke crisp instructions on how they were going to treat his bleeding nose and helped him get up. He hobbled off with the woman but before they got too far out of sight, he turned and winked at me.

The other woman snorted in disgust, meaning she saw the wink too, the rude noise drawing my attention to her. When she straightened up to her full height I saw she was slightly taller than the other woman but I still towered above her by more than a foot. Her golden eyes regarded me coolly and she crossed her arms over her chest, which looked like it was going to burst out of her orange suit vest.

"I want to publish your book, Jaegerjaquez."

To say I was dumbfounded was an understatement. Blindsided was more like it. It was almost like the time when were kids and playing football in this patch of land behind an abandoned apartment complex that was filled now with homeless people and drug addicts who had no place to live. The place was such a shit hole even the grass wouldn't grow, but it was a perfect place for a game because the hard ground was level.

I hadn't expected in all my twelve years of life that this little runt fucker Cifer could ever take me down. I was hauling ass down the field, purposefully being extra rough when I encountered someone not on my team, blasting them down by dropping my shoulder and knocking into them like a freight train. I leapt to catch the ball; I literally had it in the bag. It was some real NFL shit.

But this little bitch came out of nowhere, leaping right after me and wrapping his skinny, pale arms around my waist. He must have built up a shit ton of speed because when he collided with me, I let out an "OOF". My fingers missed the ball by inches and we went down, landing hard on the ground in a tangle of limbs.

That's exactly what I felt like in this moment, standing before this olive-skinned woman.

"Why would ya' wanna do that?" I asked her suspiciously.

She stared back incredulously.

"Are you kidding me? I'm telling you right now that this book is going to sell like air to dying astronauts in space. And I'm also telling you right now that the contract, which you are going to sign, also states that there will be at least a sequel. So, I hope you got in you to continue."

I'm not used to being bossed around, as you can probably guess, so this conversation wasn't sitting to well with me. I arched my eyebrow and glowered at this woman, squaring my chest in an unconscious way to intimidate her with my size.

"I ain't yer money makin' machine, lady. Ya know as well as I do that when the public finds out the ostracized Espada wrote it, they'll hold a book burnin' and the little bit of respect I been building around here is gonna disappear faster than a girl's virginity on prom night."

She wasn't fazed. She came with a plan.

"We are going to publish you under a pen name. If this is as popular as I believe it's going to be, we will hire someone to pose as you for book tours and signings."

She regarded me again, her eyes assessing mine in a way I didn't like and had to look away.

"And something tells me you wouldn't be interested in that stuff anyway. Crowds of people vying to ask you a million questions and wanting autographs and pictures with you. And some fans are just huggers, you know. Just want to hug you as they weep all over your clothes."

She had me, and she knew it, because I visibly cringed.

But I wasn't backing down. Somehow, in my mind, something was telling me it was only going to end badly for me.

Now it was my turn to cross my arms.

"What makes you think I'm going to sign yer contract, anyway?" I scoffed at her.

My reflexes are top notch these days, ask Kisuke. But nothing, not even a blood bath of a war, prepares you for a petite little lady to snatch you between your legs faster than the speed of sound. I honestly don't think I even saw her move, just felt her hand like a vice gripping my manhood. I followed her down to the ground as she yanked downward, finding myself on my knees in the grass, dick trapped in this woman's hands.

She squatted in front of me, her face a raging storm as she got mere inches from my own.

With a voice full of venom and promise she said, "You will sign the contract, unless you want to be pissing from the dildo they are going to have to attach here if your answer is no."

She punctuated her threat by squeezing until my eyes watered.

I was a lot of things in Espada. If it were still those days, this chic might have been dead already for thinking she could even speak to me the way she was. I could easily have headbutted her or choked her unconscious by now, and if I was anything like some of my fellow Espadas, raped every hole she had, before Kisuke and the other lady came back out. I preferred men, but I could make exceptions for beautiful ladies like this one.

But I was far from that person now. So, there I was, kneeling in the grass like a bitch with my naughty bits clenched in the hands of a lady who probably had one quarter of my physical strength. That's how Kisuke and the serious lady found us.

Kisuke was grinning like the fool he was when he approached. Under his eyes had started the purple coloration of bruising from the punch. His nose had been pushed back into place and was swollen, with what looked like tampons stuffed up each nostril. I would've laughed at him if I was in any position to do so.

"I sthee that you and Yoruichi hath got off to a grath starth," he slurred.

"She's a doll," I grunted.

"Smashing talk, Jaegerjaquez, so I'm taking it that this is a yes and you are ready to sign on the dotted line?" she asked sweetly, her hold on me not loosening one iota as she batted those honey gold orbs at me and flicked her pony tail off her shoulder.

"Yeah," I agreed with a wheeze, nodding to be extra sure she understood I didn't want my dick detached from my body on this day.

"Excellent!", she exclaimed, releasing me and standing up.

"Greath!" chimed in Kisuke, "Leths get drinks to celebrath!"

I swear I saw Ms. Serious smirk as she followed Kisuke back to shop, Yoruichi hanging back to wait for me as I tentatively stood, nervous I might hurt myself as my dick throbbed from the cruel treatment.

Yoruichi started following the other two and I made sure to stay a few paces behind her in case she got grabby again. When we were just about to the stairs she turned to me with a cat like grin, looking up at me from under her lashes.

"Before we get professional, I just wanted to let you know that you could consider me anytime you need to blow off some steam."

And she gave a pointed look at my crotch before whipping that pony tail back over her shoulder and sashaying up the steps.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't beat my meat a few times in the following weeks after our encounter thinking about that pretty mouth wrapped around my dick. Or my dick between her tits, or cramming it in her holes and making her scream. Those were welcome thoughts that took me away from the static in my brain for a while.

I never took her up on her offer, I might be perverted but I'm not Kisuke, who I'm fairly certain is fucking both those women on the DL (good for him). But since what she did for me brought me to the love of my life, I did promise myself to spend an immense amount of my newfound riches on a gift for her.

* * *

 **End chapter.** _My, my. Feisty, isn't she? Poor Grimm. Comments and reviews are always welcomed and appreciated! 3_


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own Bleach or its characters.** _Ah, installment number five! Please enjoy! I'm working really hard to get these chapters out in a timely manner. A house full of boys home for the summer is exhausting, lol!_

Chapter 5

What Hell Is was an instant success. To say that Kisuke and Yoruichi were right was the understatement of the century. Thank goodness I didn't stake my nuts on the sale of the book. Yoruichi would've had them gold plated and hung from her Christmas tree. Most people spend a lot of time driving from place to place looking for that perfect tree. I could just imagine my shining sac as the crown jewel on top, the lights shining off the precious metal nestled in the green needles of her evergreen.

It sold 5 million copies. I don't think even Yoruichi figured it'd sell that high, based on the $25,000 advance she gave me with royalties at 15% after earning out. I didn't know what to do with the advance, so when royalties started pouring in I was at a loss. An irrational part of me wanted to take out a few hundred thousand dollars in cash, strip naked, and roll in it on the bed. Of course, I conceded to the better part of my brain and put in a high interest savings account until I could figure out how to spend it.

The majority of the time, people change when they come into large sums of money. Completely sweet old ladies disappear off into the sunset with some man thirty years younger than her. Men squander a lot of their dough on hookers, blow, and yachts. I was a few hundred thousand shy of being a millionaire after the sales trickled off. The possibilities for me were financially endless.

Struggling a good deal of your life to survive does something to you. I felt a sense of entitlement to the things I had as an Espada because I worked for them, and Aizen didn't make it an easy job by any means. I worked for this money too, but it was way more than a poor kid from Hueco Mundo with PTSD and a slew of other psychological problems could handle. It just didn't seem right to earn such monetary gains off hammering out my life's story into a second hand laptop using fictional characters. I couldn't wrap my head around why 5 million people had wanted to read it and spend their hard-earned dollars on it.

I made a sizable investment in Kisuke's shop and we became business partners, albeit I was more of a silent partner, but I knew I could trust both Kisuke and his skills and abilities when it came to business. Even if he somehow squandered it all, I didn't have it in me to break his knee caps with a tire iron. You can't do that to a man that's helped you through screaming night terrors, stripped your bed you pissed in having nightmares with no judgement or mention of it ever again, the one who brought you back to life when your drinking got out of hand and you should be dead from alcohol poisoning, had your back in a war, or the one who's intuition led you to fortune.

I bought myself a large piece of land and had a house built. When I was a kid, I'd curl up at night on my paper thin, stained, military grade cot in the orphanage and dream of what my house would be like when I was out of that shithole. I wanted it open and airy allowing a plethora of natural light to come streaming in the floor to ceiling wall of windows. I wanted a light-colored hardwood throughout to contrast with gray stone textured accent walls. Contemporary furniture in mostly black, muted cream walls, built in fireplaces, and plants.

This guy Shinji Hirako was Kisuke immediate recommendation. I told him my dreams and he made little notes on a palm sized device. When I was done, he cocked a hip, shook his blond hair out of his eyes and said, "So bring the outdoors in with major splash of contemporary. Black, gray, white, and light hardwood. No other color. Manly. Got it, Blue."

He certainly got it. When I saw the finished project, I couldn't believe what I was standing in was mine. I loved everything about how it looked and how I had all the luxurious comforts I could ever want right in my own home.

Too bad I never spent much time in there.

I didn't have Hirako build me a mansion. It had four bedrooms and three bathrooms with an open concept floor plan and a few other amenities. But it might as well have been a fucking castle. I was so used to living in a tiny space that my home just was too uncomfortable to be in for too long as one man.

I spent the bulk of my time in my pole barn that was hidden down a wide gray slate stone paved path in the backyard. Part of the land I bought had some forest, and Shinji chose to have some of it cleared to tuck away what he deemed to be an eyesore to the magnificent house he built. It was hidden by the leathery leaves of Japanese Chinquapin and towering evergreens with hard wood called Shira-kashi.

It was 30 feet by 80 feet and sided to match the house. It was way more room than I needed for tinkering. Kisuke joked that I could probably fix up a few semis inside. I told him not to give me any ideas; learning diesel mechanics was on my to do list. My next purchase was a truck and a trailer to haul all my junk into my shop. I hadn't lived in my house for a month and already had more than 20 trashed items stored for repairs stashed in my mammoth pole barn. Twenty sounds like a lot but in a space that large, the mess I had scattered around barely covered one twelfth of the space.

And so, life for me continued, tinkering in my shop and writing my contractual second book. The second one took a little longer than the first, mainly because trying to write What War Is was more emotionally taxing than I thought it would be. It was easier to write the horrors down than it was to try to speak them in words; but I still reacted to the process psychologically. The nightmares were so horrible I had to be put on medicine to have dreamless sleep. I'd wake up and it was like having insomnia again; I never felt truly rested even after a drug induced eight hours.

The next encounter I had with Yoruichi was more disturbing than the last. After reading the manuscript, she called to tell me she was on her way over with the next contract. I knew she was approaching when I heard the clack of her heeled boots coming down the stone path to the pole barn. I was checking a microwave that wouldn't heat with an Ohm meter to see if any of the door switches were defective. I set down what I was doing and turned, and I suddenly had an armful of woman.

Yoruichi flung herself on me; wrapping her slender arms around my torso and holding me against her in a tight embrace. All my life, the only forms of physical contact I ever had were the products of anger or sexual desire; I was caught off guard by the warmth of her body, the overwhelming mixture of scented shampoo and floral perfume, and the underlying strength I could feel just from her hold. I eventually thawed enough to awkwardly return her embrace with a few gentle pats to the back of her shoulder.

"Grimmjow, you are truly something," she said when she pulled back, trying to search my eyes. Hers had too much emotion in them; swirling pools of empathy, understanding, and admiration and I had shove myself away from her before I let the suddenly five ton, crushing weight of loneliness that was pressing on my sternum make me do something that I would regret.

"I'm not sure this rag'll sell as well as the first," I said gruffly, shoving my hands in my jeans pockets to keep them from betraying me. They were itching to stroke her skin and see if it was as soft as it looked, to see if it felt anything like his.

She kept her distance this time, extending to me the contract in a manila folder at an arm's length. There was a golden pen clipped to it and I would have laughed at how presumptuous she was but I opened the folder to find the next advance check sitting on top of the contract.

It was made out for $75,000. My mouth went dry and I swallowed hard. My hand shook when I picked up the shocking little paper and waved it at her in disbelief.

She arched a brow and looked at me if she wasn't sure if I needed to be committed to a mental health facility.

"Grimmjow, we anticipate this book to sell at least 8 million copies. With the first blowing out of the water, there's no way a sequel isn't going to take the world by storm. I read it, twice. It is gripping, thrilling, depressing, and brutally honest; it has everything in it that books you cannot tear yourself away from have. The even crazier thing is I know that you've lived all of this. I know what writing it did to you; I talk to Kisuke regularly."

"What a fuckin' blabbermouth," I commented darkly, mentally noting to tell Kisuke not to tell all my embarrassing issues during pillow talk.

"That's beside the point," she snapped, advancing on me. "You have talent, you've had a shit life, and you deserve every penny you make."

"Money doesn't buy happiness," I scoffed, the pain of that truth slicing through me like a knife through butter. There was only one thing I wanted again and all the money in the world wasn't going to obtain it for me.

Yoruichi looked at me pensively while I paged through the contract, barely reading it before I signed my name. The only important thing was that she wasn't requiring another book, which was good because I had nowhere to go with my story at this point.

And because I didn't read it, I didn't see the clause about sending out special pre-release date copies. All the pieces of a puzzle I didn't know about were coming together.

* * *

 **End Chapter.** _Oh my, what is Yoruichi up to? Sounds like she's scheming up something. Wonder what that means for Grimmjow. Comments and reviews are always encouraged and appreciated! 3_


	6. Chapter 6

**I don't own Bleach or its characters.** _Ah yes, my darlings we are getting closer and closer to the good stuff! Thank you to all who have been sticking with me thus far. I'm doing my best to update as soon as I can. Tomorrow is Independence Day here in the USA, so of course we get busy with the backyard cookouts and swimming and fireworks! If I have time, I'm going to write down this idea I have had for a while now in honor of the 4th, but if it actually gets up by tomorrow is a different story, lol!_

Chapter 6

Yoruichi decided to throw a pre-release gala to celebrate the anticipated success of the second book. Swanky parties are not my thing, but unfortunately for me, when Yoruichi personally hand delivered my invitation it came with clear expectations that I would be present in the form of her hand around my dick, again. Seriously, I was starting to debate whether I might need to get a restraining order to protect my family jewels from the woman since there was no HR I could go to for filing a sexual harassment claim. Kisuke was no help. He laughed and told me I shouldn't complain since it was the most action my cock had seen in years. I couldn't even be mad because it was true, however, I wanted Yoruichi's hand violently ripping off my manhood just as much as I wanted to have my flesh seared off my bones in acid.

My publisher was nothing if not thorough. In addition to not taking no for an answer, she covered all her bases and had a backup plan for her backup plan. The bitch should've been a lawyer or work for the military; her potential for being the most terrifying female on the planet was being wasted on a poor wretch like me. I was barely on my second cup of coffee the next day after her blessing me with the joy of her presence to hear my doorbell ringing. Since only a few people had my address, I was washed over with an anxiety that immediately cranked up my fight instinct.

I knew all the places in the immediate area where I had a hidden firearm; the paranoia of living through people trying their damnedest to try to kill you will do that. I padded across the hardwood in my bare feet with my coffee, the scalding brown liquid and ceramic both promising distraction methods if I needed. I had the foresight of having a security system installed and my feet stopped me at the monitor built into the wall in the hallway showing eight different monitored areas on the screen. I touched the screen for the front door and it magnified to show me who was on my front porch.

No other than Shinji Hirako, in the flesh.

I was confused. What the fuck was the architect doing here, unannounced? Frowning, I headed to the front door, feeling my anxiety calm down to a manageable level as I decided he wasn't here as an assassin to pick me off. I yanked the heavy mahogany door open with one hand and took a sip of my coffee with the other, my blue eyes hard as diamonds as I scanned over the man as if he was an offensive stain on a brand new white silk shirt.

He was wearing red skinny jeans with a simple white v neck t-shirt and a black blazer, each piece of clothing tailored to be fitted to his body. I tried to ignore how his style reminded me of someone else, the thoughts making me irritable.

"The fuck ya want?" I asked charmingly.

He flipped his blond hair, completely unfazed by my rudeness.

"Good morning to you too. You know, Grimmjow, answering the door shirtless and bedraggled is how tall drinks of water like you get raped, sweetie."

Shinji was a shameless flirt. If he found someone attractive, he made sure they knew it. He didn't even try to hide how he was eye fucking me, right on my own doorstep at nine in the morning. This was not something I could deal with this early in morning.

"Look all ya want, it's free, but ya still didn't answer my question, Hirako," I sniped.

"I'm here at the request of the lovely Yoruichi to take you shopping for the gala," he said with grin that only grew wider when I choked on my coffee, the hot liquid going down the wrong tube at the words Yoruichi and shopping.

"Why'd she send you?" I asked when I could breathe again, annoyed that my eyes were watering.

Shinji sighed and flipped his hair again.

"Grimmjow, everyone cannot have an eye for style as I do. When you look this fabulous, others who are inept at style should take your advice. Clearly I know what I'm doing. Now, I'm not opposed to you showing up in gray sweat pants that hug your sexy ass and no shirt, but it's not classy or socially appropriate."

I rolled my eyes and stepped back, letting Shinji over the threshold and resigning myself to my fate, remembering I liked my dick between my legs and didn't want to see it hanging from a chain around Yoruichi's neck.

* * *

If I thought Shinji was bad, I was completely unprepared for the shop owner of Kujaku, the fashion boutique Shinji insisted they must buy his tuxedo from. The man's name was Yumichika, and he wore a pink flowered kimono and yellow eyelash extensions. He was so effeminate looking that at first I thought he was a woman.

Trying to endure the man's squawking about my beauty was making the vein in my forehead visibly pulse. His pale fingers definitely touched many places on my body for longer than was considered necessary while getting my measurements. I could feel the maniac desire to crush his trachea underneath my fingers by the time we left. I didn't know at the time that he was also fitting a certain someone for a similar tuxedo to go to the same party I was being forced to attend.

When the night of the gala came, I found myself shrugging into the muted electric blue tuxedo suit. Yumichika insisted the color would enhance the beauty of my hair and eye color and at the fitting appointment earlier in the week I had to admit he knew his shit. I did like the feel of the white satin cotton dress shirt against my skin and begrudgingly donned the double-breasted waistcoat. I deemed the item unnecessary, the black and white wool fabric was contrasted with a sky-blue grid pattern and adorned with six mother of pearl black buttons. I figured if I wore it then I could forgo the blue satin tie; I just absolutely hated the constriction around my neck.

Yoruichi arrived in a limo, the driver getting out and opening the door for me to get inside. Yoruichi sat next to Kisuke in the limo, her hair curled and piled up on her head, a few strands framing her face. She wore smoky makeup and a deep purple evening gown with a crystal accented applique gracing the deep V neckline that showed off ample cleavage. I kissed her cheek and told her she was absolutely stunning; it was the truth, but it never hurt to build bonus points with a woman who threatened to use your manhood as decorative accents.

I ignored Kisuke's pouting about how he didn't get a compliment or a kiss from me in favor of listening to Yoruichi describing how the night would go. After an hour or so of mingling and champagne, they'd unveil the newest book and she'd read the description on the inside jacket of the book. After that, there would be a band and dancing and she'd be working the crowd for investors for her company. I couldn't see how I figured into any of this since we agreed contractually I'd never be revealed as the true author. But again I remained silent so my dick could remain in its rightful place.

* * *

When we arrived at the convention center, I escorted Yoruichi in, much to Kisuke's dismay, who was stuck with serious lady whom I'd come to learn was named Suì-Fēng. She wore a simple black gown that was a halter top and slit up both sides to her mid-thigh. Her short hair was pulled into a French twist and her bangs were left down. She was also lovely, her face fresh and without makeup; her gray eyes always remained alert and serious. It was a shame that a creep like Kisuke got to keep such gorgeous, albeit intimidating, company.

Yoruichi spared no expense. She rented the most expensive and impressive ballroom. It was modeled after the Palace of Versailles with Beaux-Arts architecture, hand painted murals, and enormous crystal chandeliers. It was probably the most extravagant place I had ever set foot in. There was an orchestra playing off in the corner and wait staff bustling around with silver trays adorned with crystal flutes of amber champagne and varieties of hors d'oeuvres.

I let Yoruichi trail off in favor of nursing a glass of champagne in a corner near the door. There were already a good 50 or more people there and she told me in the limo there were expected to be at least 400. I don't do crowds but I was trying since I only needed to be there an hour and Yoruichi wanted me to experience "the fruits of my labor" as she put it.

It was amazing to witness how many wealthy people enjoyed my writing. I can say I admit I wouldn't think that what I had to say would be of any interest to people who had endless dollars and luxuriant lives. Maybe that was the appeal; they liked reading about the fucked-up struggles of some common piece of trash so they could feel better about themselves while sitting in their excessive mansions.

Unwanted glances and attention from various people and the thunderous applause after the unveiling had my head reeling. I felt like I was on one of those carnival rides that spins your seat while whipping you through the air in arching circles. I was starting to feel like the room was too hot and my vision was starting to tunnel. I leaned back against the wall and sucked in large quantities of air through my nose trying to stave off what I was sure was going to become a panic attack. I could feel the pressure in my chest mounting as if an elephant was stepping on my sternum and applying more and more weight.

I had enough clarity of thought to realize I needed to either find a restroom or get outside and shoved off the wall to do so when I saw it. A haze of orange bled into the narrow field of vision I had and drew my attention toward the blazing color. I'd know that color anywhere because it was unique and it belonged to only one person. I stopped dead in my tracks as I followed the orange hair down to identify the face.

I've seen a lot of shit in my life thus far that somehow shocked me, but nothing that confined my movement on sight. I felt paralysis overcoming my body and solidifying my feet to the marble floor as if I had been standing in cement that had cured. My heart that had been running a 5K marathon at top speed just seconds ago seemed to slow in pace but strengthen in its pounding, every heart beat seeming to push against the weight in my chest, threatening to slam its way out of layers of the muscles, flesh and bone confining it within me.

He was leaning against a pillar with his hands stuffed in his tuxedo trousers, which of course were fitted and skinny leg. His jacket hung open and he wore a silk black tie that was slightly loosened. Ever present was the scowl I'd come to learn was just a natural defense to keep most people at an arm's length, especially after becoming a triple war-hero at such a young age. His chocolate colored eyes were scanning the crowd with disinterest until they finally met mine.

Those deep brown pools burnt into mine like hell-fire and I felt my entire body go ridged. I snapped straight to attention as if he were my commanding officer, muscles taunt, back ramrod straight. My mouth suddenly felt like the deserts of Hueco Mundo as he made his way over to me, my cerulean eyes devouring every movement of his body.

It had been three long years since we laid eyes on each other but there was no question in his voice when Kurosaki arched an eyebrow at me and said, "Let's get the fuck out of here."

When he spoke, it was as if the whole world froze and there was nothing but the sound of his voice in that room washing over me in gentle waves the way the tide rolls up on the beach. I didn't even hesitate, following hot on his heels like a lost little puppy. It was like having an out of body experience; I recognized I was acting completely out of character but was helpless to stop myself. My eyes stung and I realized I hadn't blinked since the moment I saw him, as if I'd blink and he'd be gone, just a figment of my imagination in my agitated state.

I was too preoccupied in keeping Kurosaki within grabbing distance as we retreated from the party to feel Yoruichi's golden eyes on our backs, a wicked smile of triumph gracing her lips and making Kisuke and Suì-Fēng shiver in elation.

* * *

 **End Chapter.** _OOO, I do wonder how this encounter is going to go. Ideas, guesses, suggestions? All comments and reviews are appreciated! 3_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Nothing going on in the surrounding area mattered. As a person who became a paranoid observer of everything all around me, it didn't strike me as odd that I noticed nothing but the brilliant shine of the hair on the back of Kurosaki's head until we arrived at a baby blue Nissan 370z. All else had been background blur, sort of like when you put a movie on fast forward.

The color was interesting, only maybe a shade or two lighter than my hair, damn near almost the color of my eyes. I didn't give it much thought as Kurosaki unlocked it and I slid in the leather seat on passenger side, adjusting the seat as far back as it would go to accommodate the length of my legs. It was surprisingly roomy for a compact car. One of Kurosaki's long, agile fingers pushed the start button and the machine purred to life.

"You ok?" Ichigo asked me, and I could feel the tingle of his eyes assessing my face, scanning for any signs of distress that weren't present before he found me I guess. I couldn't meet that gaze, not feeling worthy of his concern and immediately finding an annoyance with the fact he'd find any reason to be concerned in the first place.

"Yeah," was my short, clipped reply, and since I wasn't looking I missed his scowl.

He pulled off the curb and that's when I realized we had walked some two to three blocks away from the gala.

"How come ya didn't use the valet?"

Ichigo looked scandalized.

"And let those idiots scratch my car trying to park it? It's really one of the only luxuries I have and I'm not about to let it get dinged up in a parking garage if I can park it on a quiet, suburban street where the house wives are extremely nosy and peering out of their windows all day. It's safer there than anywhere really."

Brains and beauty, he had it all. I ran my hand through my hair and chastised myself for that thought.

"Where we goin'?"

Ichigo was quiet for a moment, almost if he hadn't expected me getting in his car, and from the corner of my eye I could see the subtle signs of his scowl deepening.

He maneuvered into the turn lane which was a red light, so he took his eyes off the road and put them on me again. There it was, the weight of his gaze on my skin. Unconsciously, the nails of my right hand dug into the palm of my hand and only when I felt the sting did I stop pushing the digits in.

His question though, had my eyes snapping to meet his own.

"Where are you the most comfortable at? That's where we will go."

"Home," was my answer before my brain could catch up with my mouth.

"Here," Kurosaki said, handing me his cell phone that was plugged into the car, "put your address in the navigation app and that's where we will go."

Stupid, stupid, stupid, I thought the whole time my fingers typed on his phone. Not only was he going to know where I lived, he was going to _be_ in my house. It was hard enough being in this enclosed space with him. His scent was permeating the air in here, some cologne that was a mix of cinnamon and nutmeg with a hint of citrus. It was just sensual enough to be assaulting my olfactory receptors in a way I didn't particularly want in tight suit pants. I rolled the window down nearly halfway with the automatic button on the door panel.

Kurosaki didn't make small talk, which was probably good because I could hardly think straight as it was. His eyes never strayed from the road as he followed the navigations voice directions to my house. I know this because my eyes strayed all over him, in locations I probably shouldn't have been looking given my reactions to being near him in the first place.

It was hard not to look in this proximity. Everything about the man drew me in, always had. The observance I had lost came flooding back as my eyes began drinking in Ichigo like he was water to dying man in the desert. My eyes mapped the tanned angles of his face, the slight pout in his full lips and the way he'd chew it between his teeth every now and then when he was distracted in thought.

The little list in my head grew longer as I took note of how the wool blended fabric pulled tight against his long legs, how the cut of the tuxedo did nothing but accentuate his lean and powerful figure. By appearance, it seemed he was keeping up with his fitness if the way the dress shirt stretched across his chest was any indication. My traitorous thoughts wondered if he looked anything like I imagined he did naked. I had to shift a bit in my seat to keep my semi hard-on out of view.

If that orange haired fucker next to me had any idea of what he was doing to me he sure wasn't letting on. It was starting to make me angry at how just being next to him like this was affecting me. Ichigo had not done one thing to ever hint he was remotely sexually interested in women or men, let alone me, and here I was getting aroused just by pulling a Shinji and eye fucking him. What the fuck had happened to my mental strength?

Oh yeah, war and years of being a hermit after living as a homicidal maniac for most of my life. One plus one equals mental dysfunction on a grand scale.

Thankfully we pulled into my driveway before I could spiral out of control. Ichigo's voice startled me out of my thoughts and I literally jolted in my seat.

"Wow, this is your house?"

"Yeah," was my super intelligent response, too preoccupied with watching Ichigo lean forward in his seat, the leather protesting with a slight groan as he moved out of normal driving position to look.

Ichigo was entertaining when he was interested in something new. It was like watching a kid entering an amusement park they'd been dying to go all their childhood and they didn't know where to look first. His tawny eyes were darting here and there, trying to take in everything like it was his job to map it.

Maybe it was.

That realization slammed into me like a car getting t-boned by a semi in an intersection. I had let literally let down all my defenses and brought someone who I was barely acquaintances with to the only safe place I had in this world. The golden boy of Seireitei. What if he was here by their request, checking up on me? He never did state any purpose for any of this.

My mind was filled with the sound of crunching metal and all could think of was how stupid I was. I could've chosen anywhere, anywhere like butt fucking Egypt or Timbuktu and Ichigo would've taken me there and revealed his intentions, but no, I disclosed my location to him like a little girl in front of a van that said free puppies.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

The minute the car stopped my seatbelt was off and I leapt from the car as if ejected me itself. Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered the sounds of Ichigo getting out of the car and following me. I used the breadth of body to shield the box that unlocked the door and disabled the alarm system until the door was again shut. There were no keys, only a code, and I'd be damned now if it was going to be seen by Ichigo.

When I heard the lock disengage, I let Ichigo step inside first, not out of courtesy but to ensure the door shut and the system turned back on. He was sliding out of his polished dress shoes whereas I roughly kicked mine off. I stalked down the short hall to the living room, heading straight for the coffee table where I had a 38-special hidden on the underside.

When Ichigo walked in the room, he didn't seem too surprised at having a gun shoved in his face. I waved him away from the doorway and into the room. I rotated so my back was toward the wall of windows and Ichigo slowly moved opposite of me so that option for escape was also closed to him unless he wanted to charge right at me and get himself shot. He had his hands raised in surrender but was the picture of utter calm.

"Why the fuck are you here, Kurosaki? Seireitei checking in on me after all these years?"

"No, Grimmjow, I sought you out on my own accord."

"You armed?" I demanded, taking a large step toward him, the gun never wavering.

"No."

"Wire?"

"No."

"Prove it," I spat, not believing him for one second even though his eyes shone with honesty. I needed one hundred percent visual confirmation.

"How?" he asked, a slight scowl creeping up. "You can frisk me if you want."

"Smart ass, I'd have to get close to you and leave my weapon. Nice try."

"For fuck sake, Grimmjow, if I was going to try to hurt you, don't you think I'd have done so by now?"

"You ain't helping the situation," I snarled.

"Ok, ok," he said, and ever so slowly, he moved his arms so they were hanging down at his sides. I followed his movement with my eyes but never moved the gun that I had aimed between his eyes. He began shaking his shoulders vigorously until his jacket slipped from his body. He kicked it toward me.

I grabbed the offensive garment with the toe of my foot and slid it behind me. I'd check it later. He was popping open the buttons of his dress shirt, each one revealing to me inch by inch the tanned skin beneath. He took it off the same way, shaking it to the floor and kicking it to me. This time, he did a full 360 degree turn, slowly so I could see there was no wire or weapon anywhere on his upper body.

I felt myself lower the gun maybe an inch at the sight of a now topless Kurosaki in my living room. I had been right; he'd been keeping in shape; his muscles lean and defined beneath his skin like those of a swimmer or dancer. I swallowed thickly, flashbacks coming in snippets of that chest torn open in ribbons, blood rushing down the planes of his chest in rivers.

He moved again hesitantly, watching me and not the gun as he moved his hands toward the buckle of his leather belt. The clink of it coming undone seemed to echo in the large room. I felt myself inhale but I never let it out as he shimmied, yes shimmied, because how the fuck else do you get out of pants that tight? When they were pooled at his ankles he pulled each one out respectively and I had all of Kurosaki's clothing, spare his boxer briefs, at my feet.

Those underpants were tight enough for me to tell the only weapons inside were the ones he was born with, and the breath I hadn't realized I was holding came out in a whoosh. I willed my eyes not to look at Kurosaki's package and to instead look at his face.

The only telltale sign he was at all bothered the least at standing in my living room in his underwear was the very subtle red tinge to the tops of ears. You could only notice it if you knew where to look because Kurosaki long ago learned how to control his blush. You could see the discoloration in the skin against the fire of his hair if you looked hard enough.

"Alright," I conceded, my throat dry and my heart pounding in my chest. I lowered the gun and took a few steps back, my hand going through my hair in agitation and discovering the roots were damp with sweat. Fuck. I pulled a gun on an unarmed man. Kurosaki no less. That there was enough to lock me up as if I was the monster I used to be.

"It's fine, Grimmjow," Kurosaki said softly, not moving from his spot across the room. My eyes darted to look at him looking at me, his face a mask of nonchalance.

"How often does that happen?"

"What? Me pulling a gun on someone? Never, as there's barely anyone who has this address and almost nobody has been allowed to set foot in here."

"Not that. The paranoia, the flashbacks. How often?"

I snorted.

"I live with it every god damn day my heart still beats, Kurosaki. Apparently forming attachments to people and watchin' em' get blown away like a candle in the wind fucks with ya."

He nodded, his eyes saturated with understanding and it made them warmer somehow. I couldn't look at that expression too long or I'd get sucked in, so bent down and gathered his clothes. I crossed the room and handed them over, and he took them without a word.

When he was stepping into his pants, I slid the 38 back into its home. I stood up and turned around to apologize for the whole ordeal and instead pain exploded through my jaw. It was so unexpected that I staggered back.

"Who the hell invites someone in their home and pulls a gun on them, asshole?" Ichigo demanded, standing there like he didn't just punch me in my own home with his pants half done up.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" I roared and lunged at Kurosaki, snagging him around the middle and slamming him to the ground.

He broke my hold when his back hit the hardwood and kicked me square in chest. It hurt like a bitch; Kurosaki looks small and that's what gets those who underestimate him fucked up. The guy has a lot of bite behind his attacks.

He tried to roll to his feet but I snagged an ankle and yanked his ass down. He tried to kick me off as he pulled him toward me but as soon as he was close enough, I threw myself on top of him and used all my weight to pin him down. I used my knees to hold his legs and one hand wrapped around his neck, pushing into his windpipe. My other hand held one of his to the ground.

"You fucking asshole!" I huffed, glaring down into his scowling face. He had his hand on mine, trying to pry it from his neck. His nails were digging into my flesh and I could feel the angry sting as he ripped away layers of skin.

"How dare you come into my house and assault me! I could kill you right now!"

"Y-you won't," he choked out.

"How are you so sure?" I sneered, pushing harder against his windpipe. There was a thrumming in my veins, fuck, it'd been ages since I fought with Kurosaki. He wasn't stupid though, he could feel me holding back just as I knew he was. If he really wanted to, he'd get out from under me. He couldn't have gotten that weak and out of practice already.

"Y-you won't, K-katsu Togashi."

I snatched my hand away from his throat in pure shock. How did he know? How could he possibly know?

The hand he had been using to shred me up like a cat was now gingerly rubbing at his neck. I stared down at him in disbelief while he had the nerve to look like that cat who got the cream.

I watched as his eyes became soft and warm. His eye color changed with his emotions and right now they were like deep pools of maple syrup. It dawned on me that if he knew my pen name, he'd read the books, and he somehow had insider information. And Kurosaki was a smart guy. So, if he knew I was the author of the books, then he knew…

"I'm Ichiro Kagesaki, the flaming haired solider in the books, aren't I?"

It was so quiet I barely realized he spoke. My heart thundered in my chest. He _knew_.

Ichigo used his arms to shove his upper body up from the floor, and I shifted myself just enough so that I was still on top of him as he sat up. I was literally straddling his lap but I couldn't move. The brain signals weren't reaching the body parts; there was a disconnect in my brain with red flashing lights and sirens blaring in my mind.

"Grimmjow, answer me," Ichigo commanded, his eyes watching everything flickering in mine.

"Am I him? Did you portray me as him in your books?"

My deceitful body once again made me bend to his will and I nodded. I guess that was all he needed, because before I knew it, I was on my back and his body was pinning mine to the ground, our previous rolls reversed. I thought, fuck, here it is. He's going to break every fucking bone in my body for the scandalous things I wrote.

I didn't expect his mouth to come crashing down on mine in a hungry kiss at all.


	8. Chapter 8

**I don't own Bleach or its characters.** _The much awaited next installment! So sorry to keep you waiting on that cliff hanger! I do hope you enjoy, be prepared, it's a little...rough *cough cough* XD_

Chapter 8

How often do people wish on a dying ball of gas in the sky? Maybe they press a coin to their lips and toss it in a fountain or get another year older and make some sort hopeful attempt at happiness when they blow out the candles on their birthday cake before the wax drips down and mixes with the frosting. That little glimmering, wistful wish- how often does that thing come true? I don't believe in fat, stout fairy godmothers or guardian angels with golden halos and silken wings. However, whatever forces aligned in the universe to make what was happening to me right now come to pass, I owed them big time.

Ichigo's mouth was hot against mine; the slide of his lips against my own was searing my insides. Just the shock of it had me opening my mouth and he dove right in, exploring the cavern of my mouth as if it were an undiscovered diamond mine and he was about to be the richest bloke alive. Kissing him was like being caught up in a mudslide, everything was slick and fast; rushing without any signs of slowing down and the force promised nothing would be stopping it until he wanted it to be so.

Part of me was so scared that I was imagining this; it was a cruel dream and I was going to wake up with the most painful, raging hard-on that I barely had to touch before blowing my load. My brain was screaming at me to confirm it was reality and I dared to let my rough hands slither up the expanse of smooth skin of Ichigo's back. He hummed in appreciation into our kiss, spurring me out the suspended animation I seemed to have gotten caught in the moment he placed his lips on mine.

Emboldened, my hands reached down and grasped his firm ass, forcing his hips to mine as I roughly canted upwards, rubbing our hardening cocks together through layers of fabric and creating a delicious pleasure that made both of us groan. His hands found my hair and twisted in it, holding me to his mouth like I was his lifeline, his source of oxygen. Our tongues battled for dominance until our lungs burned. I sucked in air when he pulled back to do the same and I saw my chance, diving in to lick the column of his neck before sinking my teeth in.

My abnormally sharp canines pierced his skin, and I knew I submerged myself in pure cardinal sin when Ichigo screamed. It was one saturated in pure pleasure only peppered with a hint of pain. His hands yanked my hair until it felt like he'd rip it from the roots, egging me on to clamp down harder. It only made sense; all the times we encountered each other, we both strove to hurt the other, why would this be any different? In the back of my mind I knew two sadomasochists like us coming together was going to be deliciously destructive.

The metallic taste of Kurosaki's blood in my mouth made me growl, releasing my hold on his neck and grabbing the other's hips, swinging my weight so he was now beneath me. I didn't even try to be gentle; not apologetic at all when his back slammed into the hardwood and his head bounced off the floor. By the way his dick was straining against the fabric of his tight boxer briefs, I'd say he wasn't complaining.

His hands were busy shoving off my jacket and vest, and I guess he was growing too impatient, ripping my dress shirt from the waistband of my trousers and yanking it open. Buttons rained down, making little tinkling noises as they bounced and rolled around us on the wood floor. I just smirked and he scowled back, shoving the fabric aside and exposing my chest. I ain't conceited but I keep myself in shape; I could tell Ichigo appreciated what he saw. He was staring like a starving dog at an expensive cut of fresh meat.

Hands splayed out against the hard plains of my chest, and I held still and let him explore. Everywhere the contrast of soft finger pads and rough callouses touched left blistering patches of heat that threatened to liquefy my flesh. He traced around the edges of the giant scar down my chest, a mass of scar tissue making a raised mountain ridge across the expanse of my flesh. It was a remnant of our first fight; the blow that led me to believe Kurosaki was a worthy opponent even though that day I almost claimed his life.

His eyes snapped up to find mine and he smirked deviously before sinking his nails into my flesh and raking harshly down. The burning sting made me snarl out my pleasure and I looked down to angry red lines that were bleeding in some places and swelling. Everything inside of me was swirling like I was trapped inside a pulsing blender.

Nimble fingers deftly unhooking my belt and sliding down the zipper of my trousers brought me back to the now. He palmed me through the fabric of my boxer briefs and my hand snapped down and locked around his wrist, stopping him. He made a noise of confusion and disappointment in the back of his throat.

"If ya don't want what's gonna come next, ya better stop now," I warned gruffly. This was his chance to run. I knew nothing in what was going to happen was going to be a romantic, slow and gentle love scene from a Nora Roberts book.

"I don't want to stop," he demanded, squeezing my buldge enticingly.

"Might get painful," I cautioned, watching his face for signs of fear or doubt. My hips were almost shaking from trying not to rut into his hand.

I think I heard a choir singing in the distance when Kurosaki hit me full force with his eyes, half lidded and darkened with lust, and said, "I don't care. I _like_ it when _you_ make it hurt."

I let go of his wrist and shoved myself onto my knees, my dick throbbing with need.

"Get naked now," I commanded, watching him scramble to obey. Those sinfully tight articles of clothes were back on the floor where they belonged in seconds. Kurosaki sat naked before me, legs wide open so I could openly gaze at all he was.

There aren't words to describe how fucking perfect he was. Smooth, tan thighs led in to a cock that was maybe a little longer than average with a slight curve. It was hard and precum was dribbling from the darkened head. His sac was smooth and perfectly round. It made my mouth water just looking at him but my own desire was ratcheted up so high I told myself I'd enjoy tasting that part of him another time.

"Get your hands against that wall, legs spread," I ordered, pointing to the windows.

I watched with an arched brow as he complied without hesitation or complaint, moving quickly to the wall of windows and spreading out as if he was about to be cavity searched by border patrol. I stood and shed the rest of my clothes, stalking toward his still frame. I moved to stand behind him, close enough that we could feel each other's body heat and he could feel my breath on the back of his neck, but not touching.

We stood like that for a stretch of time, soaking in anticipation. I waited for him to crack, to give me the go ahead to unleash the monster that was clawing to get out and destroy him. I could see his fingers twitch against the glass after a while and I stepped back. That's when I saw it.

He was leaking copious amounts of precum, and it had dripped down and was collecting in between his feet in a small puddle, no more than the size of a nickel. A feral grin spread across my face and I used my hand to shove between his shoulder blades, forcing him down with the squeal of skin against glass.

"Make sure you keep that ass out and hands on the glass," I instructed.

I didn't wait for his answer, just dropped to my knees and grabbed his ass in my hands. I spread him open and dove in to taste him. His entire body jolted and he gasped out expletives as I worked at his hole with my tongue. I kept it up for a while, stroking myself slowly to get a little relief from the pulsing in my own cock.

When I deemed him good and wet, I stood up, admiring him for a few moments. His back was coated with a fine layer of perspiration and his forehead was pressed against the cool glass, desperate for respite as his body temperature climbed from the pleasure. His hands were almost clawed, but he'd been a good boy and kept them where they were supposed to be. Maybe he deserved a reward.

"Look at you, _Ichigo_ ," I said, making sure I sneered his name. "What would they say in Seireitei if they knew the great war hero just had his ass eaten by the Sexta Espada?"

Maybe he was going to answer, but I struck his ass hard with my hand, my dick jumping at his pleasured cry.

"Such a pretty little slut," I said, rubbing over the bright red mark. "You've dripped all over my floor, and now you've got your ass out, just waiting for me to fuck it wide open."

His needy whimper died when I smacked him again in favor of a choked gasp, his head sliding down the glass to hang between his shoulders. It snapped right back up again when I jammed my middle finger in his hole with no warning.

"Fuck" was becoming Kurosaki's mantra as I pumped my digit deep into his insides. He was all velvet and consuming heat and I used my other hand to smear my precum all over the head of my cock. I couldn't wait any longer. I needed to be inside him. I spat a large amount into my palm and slathered myself; he wanted it to hurt but I didn't want to _injure_ him. I was ok with being rough but I'm not a complete dick with no consideration.

"Ready?" I asked thickly, praying he would say yes because I wasn't confident I could hold myself back at this point.

"Fuck me, Grimmjow!" was his desperate plea, his ass shoving back on the thrusts of my finger.

I didn't need telling twice. I pulled my finger out and pressed the head of my cock against his entrance. I anchored a hand around his hip and pushed forward, my eyes sliding closed in euphoria as Ichigo's body slowly sucked me in.

His canal was sweltering and tight. My hand involuntarily grasped Ichigo's hip with bruising force as I ignored my animal instinct to plough into him in favor of sinking in inch by torturous inch and letting him adjust. He was panting heavily, focusing on staying relaxed, but every now and then a curse would slip from his lips. When my pelvis met the soft skin of his firm ass, I let my free hand skirt up his abdomen and around his chest, feeling the power of his lithe frame.

I found a nipple and teased the bud, alternating between gentle caresses and sharp pinches and tugs. My ministrations dragged hisses and low whimpers from Ichigo and prompted him to start moving, slowly sliding himself up and down on my cock. As the moments went by, he grew bolder as his body yielded to the large intrusion inside him, and he braced himself against the glass and began to move with more fervor.

As if the feeling of Ichigo wasn't enough, the sight of him feverishly fucking himself on my dick was enough to make me embarrass myself and cum right there. I busied my mind with thinking about how to rebuild the motor of a washing machine so I wouldn't end this too early.

Kurosaki had other plans though. There was nothing that could distract me when he opened his beautifully evil mouth.

"How does that big cock feel now, Jagerjaquez, plunging in my ass? Does it feel good?"

Fuuuuuuuucking hell. Both of my hands were on his hips, my grip unforgiving.

"Better watch yourself, Kurosaki," I rasped, my tone promising him what was to come if he kept playing with fire.

A guy with hair the same color as flames apparently isn't afraid of playing with fire, or being burnt alive for that matter. His smart little mouth was experiencing a case of word vomit.

"Big bad Sexta, with his cock up the ass of Seireitei's hero, what would the Espada say about you? If they knew what I knew, of how you've been wanting to fuck me stupid for years."

Simultaneously, I sank my teeth into his right shoulder blade and slid a hand down to snatch his left thigh and yank it up roughly, delighting in his cry of pleasure spiked with pain. His hands scrambled to find purchase against the window as he was thrown a bit off balance and I wasn't waiting; I had plans to thoroughly exploit the angle I just opened. I knew I was giving him what he wanted, the fucking little minx and his manipulative mouth, but it was what I wanted too.

I snapped my hips forward, sinking deep before drawing back to do it again, setting myself at a swift pace. Ichigo wasn't doing much talking anymore as my dick began brutalizing his prostate, his string of incomprehensible screams telling me all I needed to know. The room rang with the sounds of skin rapidly meeting skin and Ichigo's moans mixed with my occasional grunts as I sucked and lapped at the bite mark while I fucked him.

The intensity was starting to overtake me. I could feel the pressure in my abdomen building, pulling a bit tighter with every thrust. I reached around and wrapped my hand around Ichigo, pumping him in time with my thrusts after a few tries. We were both slick with sweat and panting, dancing in the periphery of climax.

Everything became frantic and erratic. Ichigo was moving desperately against me and my rhythm was failing. His palms were squeezing and slipping on the glass and the pitch of his moans had gone up an octave. He was coming unraveled; he was right there on the brink, and I just needed to shove him from that perilous, rocky cliff and he'd plummet and shatter. I poured my remaining efforts into pistoning my hips like I was part machine, feeling Ichigo's cock swell before he could even get the words out.

"G-Grimm!" was all he could manage before he was pulsing in my hand, his semen shooting out and coating the window and my hand. That was all it took to snap the coil inside me and I was pouring my release into Ichigo's spasming walls with an animalistic howl against his back. Ichigo supported my extra weight while I leaned heavily against him, coming down from my high. When my breathing slowed to a more moderate rate I withdrew carefully from him, gingerly releasing his leg to lower to the floor, noting the tender flesh had already started bruising.

He straightened and turned around, his expression relaxed and satiated. His hair was darker where it was drenched with sweat. Inside I was panicking, I didn't know what to do or to say now that the tide of lust had smashed us down to the beach and withdrew. He just smirked at me and asked, "You want to shower?"

I nodded dumbly and led him to my room, preferring to use my on-suite bathroom since it was stocked with the stuff I normally used. I opened the glass door of the spacious shower, turning on the water to let it heat up before going over to the linen cabinet to retrieve towels and wash cloths. Ichigo was glancing all around with a small smile that grew a little larger at my perplexed expression.

"You have a beautiful home, Grimmjow. You designed it yourself, didn't you?"  
"Yeah, I did, worked with a pretty great designer although he's kind of an opinionated asshole at times."

Ichigo chuckled at that, the sound burning into my audio memory.

"Shinji is definitely that," he commented, stepping into the shower after I gestured to him to go first.

"You know him? Is that how you found me?" I asked a little darkly, stepping in behind him.

"Nope," Ichigo said, ducking his head beneath the spray. He didn't comment further and I forgot what we were talking about, too enraptured by watching the rivulets of water trickle down his body. My eyes were drawn to the bruising bite mark I'd left at his neck and I thought of its twin on his back. My lips itched to kiss over it but I tamped down the thought. I didn't know what any of this was to Ichigo now that he knew the truth and we'd had sex.

Maybe he was following my trail of thought because he stepped forward out the spray, moving so I could go under and was looking at my selection of soap on the built-in shelf. I was raking my fingers through my hair beneath the water when he dropped it on me.

"So, is this a one-time deal?"

It was a quiet question, barely audible over the sound of the water but I caught it, almost forgetting I was under the water and wanting to open my eyes but they'd be pelted bloody from the water jets. I moved forward and wiped my hands down my face, my mouth speaking before my brain could analyze and form a response.

"Don't want it to be."

Ichigo spun around so fast I didn't know what was going on. His eyes were bright and he grasped my jaw, lifting on his tip-toes to accommodate for the different in height. Ever so gently, he pressed his lips to mine, coaxing me into a kiss that was unlike anything I've experienced before. It was soft but passionate, our tongues tangling languidly together like lovers in a hammock on a summer day.

I felt something jar and swell in my chest. It wasn't painful although the pressure felt like someone was trying to crack open my sternum. But it dissipated into this light and airy feeling, almost the way you feel when you've taken a lot of pain medication and are lying there waiting for sleep to come, your head dancing like a kite on the wind.

Ichigo pulled back, gently nudging my nose with his own and looked at me from under his long lashes to which small, shining droplets of water clung.

"So what is this, then?" I asked him, a bit anxious about what his answer would be.

Ichigo smiled at me then, a true smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made his eyes warm enough to melt better.

"It's what love is," he said matter-of-factually, before turning back to grab the soap like he didn't just make me the happiest man in the universe.

* * *

 **End story.** _So my friends, tis the end of our short and sweet journey for this fic. I thought about making it longer, but compared to other stories this one hasn't quite taken off so I thought I'd quit while I was ahead and happy with it! Comments and reviews are always appreciated, and watch for my next story, coming very soon! 3_


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